


As the Universe Wills It

by TuppingLiberty



Series: As the Universe Wills It - Force Husbands [1]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Anniversary, Demisexual Character, Demisexual!Baze, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Honestly they're just so married it hurts, M/M, Pride, Seattle, pottery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 13:53:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9444080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuppingLiberty/pseuds/TuppingLiberty
Summary: Set in Seattle, Baze and Chirrut have been together for years. Baze is a security consultant, and a potter, though Chirrut would tell you it should go in the opposite order, but Baze doesn't give himself enough credit. For his part, Chirrut works at the Asian Art Museum as an art history/religion/art for the sight impaired consultant. They're very, very married.A story of a day in their life, with flashbacks to previous important moments of their life together.Written by commission (donation) for Fandom Trumps Hate!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cognomen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cognomen/gifts).



The alarm on Baze’s phone chirped at him, and he grumbled. The sheets beside him were cold, it was raining, and the smell of coffee distant, which meant Chirrut was already up and gone. Which meant he didn't have to deal with Chirrut’s constant morning chatter. The fact that his husband was such a chipper morning person was pretty fucking annoying. Too bad he loved the guy. Baze groaned as he rolled over in bed. The thing about Chirrut's chattiness in the morning was that it _forced_ him to wake up.  


Sure enough, though, his phone chimed again with a voice text from Chirrut. “Don’t forget to pick me up tonight. Or, you know, do. Either way, I’m going for sushi. Oh, and, hey, it’s raining.”

Chirrut’s voice threading out of his phone lifted Baze’s lips a tiny bit. For Chirrut, ‘it’s raining’ was practically a declaration of love.

Not that Baze was very declaratory himself. Outsiders often expressed surprise when they found out Baze and Chirrut were married. Baze snorted, thinking of the look on Chirrut’s boss Melanie’s face when Chirrut had first introduced him.  _ What? _ He was always tempted to say.  _ Do you want us to fuck each other here in public to prove it or something? _

This was why Baze let Chirrut do the talking for them.  _ Especially _ when they were at one of the fancy receptions at the museum.

He pulled on work clothes and passed through the kitchen to grab an easy breakfast. He’d get a kettle going for tea out in the studio. As he crunched through the raisin bran and almond milk, he looked out at the spitting rain and sighed, turning toward the front door for his coat. If he got sick because he walked in the rain to his shed, Chirrut would never let him hear the end of it, even as he fed him chicken soup.

They’d worked hard to carve out a place for themselves here, despite the economy, despite the rising Seattle housing prices, despite the ebbing and flowing (more often ebbing) funding for the arts. They’d managed to make the small Green Lake home theirs. 

The pottery wasn’t his full time gig, of course. They’d never have been able to survive on it and the salary Chirrut got as a history/religion/art for the vision impaired consultant at the Asian Art Museum. Baze snorted. Yeah, Chirrut had managed to carve out a niche for himself there, too. 

No, later today, after he got the kiln going, Baze would step back inside and work to bring in the real cash, security consulting over the internet. Sometimes, bigger jobs would require travel, but for the most part, he could get away from working at home. 

Which he definitely preferred to being around people.

He had a batch of green ware to get into the kiln today. The garden shop down the street had ordered more flower pots, and the gallery needed bowls. And his own Saturday market supply could use some boosting. So, get the kiln going, then throw a little. Then check the plans for the firm in Texas. Then throw on something nice, tame his hair, and pick up Chirrut for their anniversary dinner. 

Yeah, they’d managed to make something great for themselves here. Call him sentimental.

 

_ Chirrut’s hand was wrapped in a fist, and only Baze knew the importance of the treasure he held there.  _

_ “Here we are,” Baze murmured, though it was unnecessary; Chirrut would have already felt the sense of finality in the movements of the car.  _

_ “Here we are,” Chirrut said back confidently, his smile glorious. He reached for the door, other hand still in a fist, protecting his treasure. Baze rubbed his hands on his jeans and strode around the car, where Chirrut was waiting for him. Soon, probably later today, given Chirrut’s capacities, Chirrut would have this front walk memorized, the number of footfalls it took to get to the stairs, the number of stairs to get to the porch, the number of steps to get to the door. Baze had learned never to underestimate Chirrut in that regard a long time ago. For now, Baze wrapped an arm around his waist, and led him up the charming path, to the charming porch, to the door of the charming house that was now officially  _ theirs. _ Not Baze’s. Not Chirrut’s.  _ Theirs. _ The closest they may ever come to being able to legally bind their relationship: a joint mortgage.  _

_ At the door, Chirrut opened his fist, and slid the key into the lock. He glanced up at Baze, elation plain on his face. “C’mon then. We’re in this together now.”  _

_ Grinning stupidly himself, Baze placed his hand over Chirrut’s, and they turned the key together. He heard Chirrut’s satisfied exhale as they pushed the door open, the sounds echoing through the empty house. _

_ Baze turned to grab a box from the back of the car, but Chirrut stopped him, pulling on his shirt until he had Baze pressed against the hallway wall, managing to kick the door shut in the process. Baze had stopped being surprised by Chirrut’s ability to get him against a wall ages ago. Instead, he smiled so Chirrut could feel it. “Here we are,” Chirrut repeated with a happy laugh, before bringing Baze’s head down to kiss him thoroughly. “Here we are, and all is as the universe wills it.” _

_ Baze wrapped his arms around Chirrut’s waist, boosting him up a little, sinking into the kiss. “The universe wills our kiss, huh?” _

_ “The universe is very rewarding,” Chirrut replied with a grin, taking Baze’s mouth again. _

_ They’d taken the week off work to settle in, and as a sort of honeymoon. Who was to stop them from celebrating their commitment to each other, even if they were barred from marriage? There were hopes, at least, on that front, here in Washington, but they were disinclined to wait. _

_ So they’d taken a week, some of which was spent unpacking, and some of which was following Chirrut’s plan to ‘christen every room in the house, to make sure the house has good energy.’ _

_ He wasn’t sure if Chirrut was following through on his plan when he found him in his pottery shed (which Chirrut insisted on calling his studio) a few days later.  _

_ “I just finished with the shower head. Should have decent pressure now. And I put in a load of laundry. And did you want to throw a pot?” Baze crossed his arms, leaning against the wall, watching Chirrut familiarize himself with the pottery wheel.  _

_ “We should make something together, for our place.” _

_ It was a surprisingly sincere statement from Chirrut, and Baze was immediately suspicious. “I can teach you on the wheel, but it would require a little setup, I think. What about a hand-built something, instead?” _

_ Chirrut’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Sure.” _

_ Still suspicious, Baze pulled over a second chair and the necessary materials. He sliced off a chunk of clay for Chirrut and another for himself. “The easiest way is a pinch pot,” he said, handing Chirrut his clay, “but I bet we could do a coil pot easily. Take some and roll it between your-” _

_ “How’s this?” Chirrut held up an object that was most assuredly not a coil. “Mmm, you should go into the ceramic dildo business, this seems pretty thick.” He bounced the clay dick he’d made in his hands a few times, as if testing it’s heft. _

_ Baze rolled his eyes and took the dick from Chirrut’s hand. “You know, if you wanted to fuck in my shed, you didn’t have to go through some elaborate scheme. You just say, ‘hey Baze, let’s fuck in your shed-” _

_ “Studio, don’t sell yourself short.” Chirrut cupped Baze’s face with clay-covered hands. “Mmm, someone’s not as annoyed as they’re letting on.” Quick as lightning, his hand was down and on Baze’s crotch, squeezing gently. “Mmm, yes, not  _ nearly _ as annoyed as their voice sounds.” _

_ “Just let me-” Baze managed to get the clay back in the bag before Chirrut pulled him to the ground, and they christened the shed-studio together. _

The fight against Seattle traffic had him grumbling, like always, and he tugged at the pony tail he’d tried to tuck his hair back into. Growling and forcing his hands away from the hairdo and back on the wheel, he told himself it didn’t matter that he’d look like a caveman compared to his slick husband. He’d never been at Chirrut’s level.

_ They were lying in Chirrut's bed, and everything was new and wonderful, and Chirrut was propped up on one arm over him, the other hand tracing over Baze’s chest, then up, up, until Baze captured his wrist gently. “There’s nothing there worth exploring,” Baze muttered. “My hair is a rat’s nest more often than not, I forgot to shave, and I’ve got-” Baze bit off his explanation when Chirrut easily broke free from his hold. This time, resigned, Baze didn’t stop him. _

_ “Mmm, yes,” Chirrut said, hand on Baze’s face, exploring, “thank god I’m blind.” He snorted with laughter, and Baze preened a little, too in love with Chirrut to do more than tip his arm out from under him and make him fall back into the sheets. “I had someone describe you to me the day we met, you know,” Chirrut murmured, blue eyes staring up at his. “I knew about the scars. I knew we make what some would call a mismatched pair.” He’d stroked down Baze’s chest, then. “Look at how wrong they are.”  _

 

Still, they were ever the odd couple, standing side-by-side. Even when Baze did clean himself up. 

His usual parking spot at the museum was open (with a little luck, and the handicapped employee pass), and soon he was headed inside to collect his husband. The security guard gave him a nod of kinship - he was a regular trainer here, thanks to Chirrut’s introduction. Baze always preferred consulting for museums over something like a private residence. It felt like a worthier cause, protecting the art for the people. 

Chirrut was waiting in the lobby, sitting on the stone bench, looking dapper in a finely tailored suit, beautiful blue eyes seemingly staring into space. Baze knew better. People watching - Chirrut refused to call it anything else - was one of his favorite activities. Sometimes, in the winter, when the market wasn’t taking up most of Baze’s free time, they’d go downtown, maybe to Pike’s Place, maybe to the piers, maybe to the main art museum or the library, and Chirrut would make a game of it. Describe what he could hear, and have Baze tell him if he was right. He was, unerringly, right. If Baze hadn’t accompanied Chirrut to enough doctor’s visits by now to know the truth, he would suspect his husband of attempting some huge, long-con-esque practical joke on him.

Chirrut stood on his approach, even though Baze had said nothing. “The traffic made you grumpy,” he said in greeting, before placing himself by steadying a hand on Baze’s arm and stretching up to brush his lips across Baze’s.

Baze had long since stopped asking how Chirrut could  _ know _ that, just from his footfalls. Not for the first time did Baze think that Chirrut would have made an excellent partner, back when he’d been in Special Ops. “How was your day?” he asked instead, slipping an arm around Chirrut’s waist. They walked outside, Chirrut leading the way more than Baze, setting the pace, his cane tucked up unused against his side. 

“Another one asked today how a blind man could work at an art museum,” Chirrut chirped, annoyance in his voice.

Baze smiled a little. “Oh? And did you put them in their place?”

Chirrut wrinkled his nose adorably. “I wish.  _ Unfortunately _ , it was the tactless daughter of a major donor. So instead I just explained about our Art Beyond Sight program, and casually mentioned that one does not  _ technically _ need to be able to  _ see _ the art to research the history and meaning behind it.”

Baze smirked as they slid into the car. “And did you mention Eddie Redmayne, and his thesis?” he asked, already knowing the answer. He had this particular Chirrut Lecture memorized. Had given it himself, on occasion, although with less panache than Chirrut always managed. 

“Of course!” 

Indignation rang in his tone, and Baze couldn’t help but grin and lean over the drive shaft to capture Chirrut’s mouth. “Hi.”

Chirrut’s lips curved against his, and his hand came up to run over the laugh lines on Baze’s face. “Hi.” He slipped his hand onto Baze’s thigh and continued his story as Baze navigated out of the parking lot.  


The server at the sushi place greeted them as old friends, nodding at the chef to get started on their regular order. They’d been coming here since that first date, seventeen years ago. They were celebrating the anniversary of the day they’d bought the house together - their actual wedding date was much younger, of course, though they’d been wearing rings for years. When DOMA had been struck down, they’d felt comfortable going down to the courthouse and making themselves legal, even though they’d been married spiritually for years. As such, their actual wedding anniversary meant little to them. Baze guiding Chirrut up the stairs he hadn’t yet committed to memory, then turning the key in the lock together - that had been the ceremony they’d connected to.

Settled at a table in the corner, Chirrut reached his hand across the table, knowing Baze would capture it. They chatted about everything, and nothing, as all married couples do. Shared a sake, and fought over the single tempura sweet potato, like they always did. 

“Mmmm, I’ll blow you tonight if you let me have it,” Chirrut said  _ sotto voce _ , with a snigger. 

Baze’s cheeks tinged in a blush that was part embarrassment, part excitement, and part sake. With expert chopsticks, he flipped the sweet potato over to Chirrut’s plate. 

Chirrut’s smile grew wide across his face, lighting up the whole thing. “You’re so easy,” Chirrut teased.

Baze let out a low rumble of a laugh. “That,  _ lăo gong _ , is something  _ only you _ have ever accused me of.” Baze didn’t have a lot of Chinese, but the endearment his mom had once used regularly on his dad slipped easily out. 

Chirrut shrugged. “I’m okay with that,” he replied with a wink.

When Baze had first met Chirrut, the word ‘demisexual’ hadn’t been invented yet - or, at least, not to Baze’s admittedly limited knowledge of the subject. It wasn’t until he’d been with Chirrut for years that he’d come across the word. He remembered walking quietly by Chirrut’s side at Seattle Pride two years ago, letting Chirrut’s cane and his own intimidating presence move the crowd around them. Chirrut had goaded him into nerdy, matching t-shirts. 

 

_ “I can’t believe you haven’t seen Star Wars,” Chirrut had chided, shaking his head. “I promise, it’s funny.” Chirrut had gone to a t-shirt making shop and come back with his prizes: one that read “The Force is with me” for himself, and one that simply read “The Force” for Baze. Chirrut had cackled, and Baze had just shook his head.  _

_ “I didn’t even know you liked sci-fi.”  _

_ Chirrut shook his head at him. “You can’t discount the Eastern influence on Lucas’ work-” he’d started, then launched into a lecture. _

_ So they’d walked through Pride, and gotten stopped for a lot of pictures, and in general, it had all made Baze grumpy, and Chirrut  delighted , so then of course Baze had to be grudgingly enthusiastic, too. Because who was he to deny Chirrut anything? Especially when Chirrut responded to things the way he did, like when the guy who wanted to legalize pot had asked for their signatures.  
_

_ "Oh, yeah, of course I'll sign. I wasn't able to get the medical marijuana card in time for my glaucoma, and look what happened," Chirrut had replied, stone-serious face and eyes wide. The man had gulped and started to struggle to find something to say. "I'm just fucking with you, buddy," Chirrut mumbled. "Baze, sign the thing."  _

_ They’d stopped so Chirrut could have a discussion with someone at a booth for the vision impaired. Baze had wandered a few feet, knowing Chirrut would be fine, over to the next booth, which just so happened to be for an Asexual awareness group. He’d frowned, not really sure what it all meant, and taken some literature. And been flabbergasted when he’d seen himself reflected in the definition for demisexual. _

_ “What are you thinking?” Chirrut had asked that night, as they’d settled into bed with each other.  _

_ “I’m wondering about...if it would have been different,” Baze managed, trying to find the right words. “If having a label, back when I was young and confused, if it would have made a difference.” He’d shrugged. “I mean, I’m here with you, so would it really matter?” _

_ Chirrut’s strong, thin fingers had played over the curls on his bare chest. His head was tucked against Baze’s shoulder. “That’s true. The past cannot be changed. It doesn’t do to dwell there.” _

_ Baze was unaffected by Chirrut’s spirituality, but he’d learned long ago to just let Chirrut espouse it anyway. It brought Chirrut comfort, and Chirrut being at ease put Baze at ease, so… “Yeah,” he’d said, noncommittally. _

_ “But, if it eases your mind now, then claim it. Finding yourself is not exclusive to the young.” _

_ “Hmm,” Baze had hummed, with true thoughtfulness. “I’m a demisexual.” _

_ He felt Chirrut’s smile against his skin. “Nice to meet you, I’m Chirrut.” Baze had snorted. “But seriously, I’m glad it brings you comfort to label yourself. That’s what labels  _ should _ be for. Solidarity, not stereotype. _

_ Humbled and touched, Baze pulled Chirrut closer to him. “Thanks.” _

_ “Next year, I’ll make us new t-shirts. Mine’ll say, ‘I’m not demisexual, but my husband is.’” _

_ Baze had still been laughing when he covered Chirrut’s mouth with his. _

 

Their rolls arrived, arranged exactly as they always were, so Chirrut wouldn’t have to go searching. His chopsticks immediately found one of the pieces with salmon roe, and he happily popped it in his mouth. “I can hear you wrinkling your nose from here,” he teased.

Baze, who had indeed been wrinkling his nose, shook his head. “Well, I guess if you’re just going to be giving me a blow job, and not kissing me-”

Chirrut’s hand snaked out, fast as lightning, and pulled Baze across the table, almost upending their sake, which Baze saved just in time. He took Baze’s mouth, making Baze wince at the taste - he just hated the weird texture of the roe, bursting in his mouth, honestly - and his heart speed up at the passion. 

When Chirrut let him go, Baze took a deep breath. “You almost knocked over the sake.”

Chirrut’s grin nearly blinded him. “But I didn’t.”

“Because I saved- nevermind.” Baze shook his head again with a snort, and grabbed his own piece of not-roe-covered sushi. 

“All is as the universe wills it,” Chirrut said, popping another piece in and chewing.

Baze laughed. “You think I haven’t figured out what that means after all these years?”

“All is as the universe wills it,” he repeated, unable to keep a straight face this time, but then he sobered, and reached out for Baze’s hand again. Twining their fingers together, he murmured, “Don’t forget the bowl.”

Like he’d ever forget the bowl.

 

_ Baze had noticed the young, blind man several Saturdays ago. He’d been instantly fascinating to Baze, how he walked through the crowd with ease, confidence, and a tapping white cane. He’d figured the man must have been blind for a long time; he’d seen vets at the hospital, trying to get their bearings after being blinded in operations, and they had nothing of this man’s grace. The VA should hire him to give lessons, Baze had thought.  _

_ And then the man, though he hadn’t come by before, had headed straight for him, and Baze had feared for his pottery. He didn’t have a whole lot of stock yet. He was paying to use a kiln and wheel at a studio. Probably silly, he thought. Trying to turn this hobby into something more. He wasn’t even doing very well at the market; it was hard for him to connect with customers. He’d started pottery at the suggestion of his therapist. Making money off of it seemed silly. The few people who had actually ventured up to his display had left quickly at his gruff answers. _

_ “I had to come see the new guy,” the man had said. Baze had frozen, and then the man had laughed hard at his joke and stuck out his hand. “Chirrut Îmwe.” _

_ Baze had chuckled nervously. “Baze Malbus. Yeah, I thought I’d try the market out this year.” He kept an eye on the man’s - Chirrut’s - ever tapping cane. _

_ “May I?” Chirrut reached out, and Baze was surprised, and a little ashamed at his surprise, that it wasn’t a blind grope, but a steady hand. Chirrut took up one of the bowls in his hand. “Nice weight. Smooth glaze. Good thickness. This is well done, Mr. Malbus.” _

_ “Oh, you can call me Baze. Um, thanks.” Still, Baze watched carefully as Chirrut lowered the bowl back down. Something about his easy demeanor put Baze at ease. “Do you live in the neighborhood?” _

_ “Yeah, for now. It’s cheap, and I’m a grad student at U-Dub. I know, I know, kind of old for a student. But the thing is, I had a hard time convincing them to let me go for the Art History Masters. Don’t know why,” Chirrut replied with a sardonic twist of his lips and a challenging lilt in his voice. _

_ “Art history?” Baze had offered, hoping to sound neutral. _

_ “Yeah,” Chirrut replied cautiously. “East Asian emphasis, especially China, though other places as well. My thesis is quite a bit narrower than that of course.” _

_ Baze let out a little surprised breath. “Yeah? My dad was a Chinese immigrant, my mom first generation.” _

_ “My grandparents were both newly minted Americans. The interest in our family’s culture skipped my dad’s generation and came straight for me.” _

_ Baze had shrugged, then realized belatedly that Chirrut couldn’t see the gesture. “I guess it’s the same for me. I still know a little Chinese my dad tried to pound into me, but…” _

_ “Shame. I had to teach myself.” Chirrut turned. “Well, I’m going to tell Karen at the Star Farms table that you’re not gruff or scary at all.”  _

_ Baze sputtered. Somehow responding ‘I am  _ so,’  _ didn’t seem correct. But then, a dog darted away from their owner, the extended leash setting up the perfect tripwire for Chirrut, and Baze gasped, lunging to pull the man back. As he came back, off balance from Baze’s pull, Chirrut knocked the bowl he’d been admiring off the shelf, and it fell to the ground and broke into four pieces. _

_ “What-” Chirrut sounded cross. “I don’t appreciate being manhandled.” _

_ “There was a leash- you were about to trip- Sorry.  _ Sorry. _ ”  _

_ Chirrut smiled a little at the sincere apology in Baze’s voice, and stooped to pick up the pieces of the bowl. “How much was it?” _

_ “You don’t have to pay. Seriously. It’s my fault,” Baze found himself saying, even though he was still pretty sure he’d saved the man from a nasty fall. _

_ “I insist. Besides, all is as the universe wills it.” _

_ It sounded like something his dad, a Buddhist, would have said. “Ten dollars.” _

_ “What, is it ugly or something?” _

_ Baze laughed in surprise. “Uh, well, I don’t think so.” Chirrut pressed a twenty in his hand and stuck the pieces of bowl down into his bag. “Oh, I can throw that away for you.” _

_ “I paid for it, fair and square. Even if it is ugly. See you around, Baze.” With a delighted snort at his own joke, Chirrut walked away, leaving Baze a little awed. A few minutes later, a woman came by and bought two bowls. She’d been sent by Chirrut, she said. _

_ The awe had never gone away, although Baze had become less awkward. Chirrut joined him at his booth every week, enticing in customers, making sales while Baze stood back, trying to learn how to- how to  _ Chirrut.  _ They’d become good friends, exchanging emails, and grabbing lunch together after the market ended most Saturdays. Being with Chirrut was easier than being with just about anyone else since retiring from the military. He’d come to think of Chirrut as his best friend. Even when the market closed down for the winter, he and Chirrut kept meeting up. In December, they’d taken over a corner of one of the coffee shops, Chirrut immersed in research for his thesis, and Baze pouring over consultant work, when Chirrut had paused his fingers, smiled at Baze, and leaned over to dig in his backpack. To Baze’s surprise, he’d pulled out a gift bag. _

_ “I- I didn’t get you anything,” Baze groaned. _

_ Chirrut shrugged. “That’s okay. Make up for it next year,” he said with a wink. _

_ Baze shook his head and carefully pulled out the tissue. The package was heavy, and his fingers felt pottery. His brow furrowed, wondering why Chirrut would get a potter a piece of pottery. When he pulled it out of the bag, his small intake of breath had Chirrut grinning and waggling his eyebrows.  _

_ “How does it look?” _

_ It was the bowl that had been broken, the first time Baze met Chirrut, but it had been pieced back together with- _

_ “It’s called Kintsugi. It’s Japanese? They repair the pottery with a precious metal, to show that what was damaged isn’t truly broken. Normally it’s silver or gold, but, uh, grad student, so. They told me copper went well with the glaze, anyway.” Chirrut set his book aside and scooted toward Baze on the couch they’d overtaken. _

_ “Chir, it’s- I can’t take this. It’s beautiful.” _

_ “And what? Baze Malbus can only sell beautiful things to others, and not keep them for himself?” Baze was speechless, and Chirrut reached out to pat his thigh. “Just say thank you.” _

_ “Thank you,” Baze managed, turning the bowl over in his hands. “What was it called again?” _

_ Chirrut’s hand unerringly found his, and Baze turned away from the bowl to look into Chirrut’s perfect blue eyes. “Kintsugi. What’s damaged-” Chirrut’s hand swept up Baze’s arm, then across his beard-rough cheek. “-isn’t truly broken.”  _

_ Baze couldn’t breathe properly, all of a sudden. His heart picked up tempo as he leaned over to put the bowl on the table, then came back and placed a matching hand on Chirrut’s cheek. He glanced around. It was Seattle, sure, but what he was contemplating- except he’d never felt this compulsion in his entire life, and now that he did, he didn’t want to wait until they were alone, he didn’t want to wait anymore, not when it was so obvious that Chirrut was- _

_ “Are you going to kiss me or not?” Chirrut asked, mouth quirking up. _

_ “Shut up,” Baze said reflexively, then leaned down, brushing his mouth over Chirrut’s too quickly to really feel anything. _

_ “Did anyone give us a look?” Chirrut whispered, and it struck Baze how seldom Chirrut actually asked a question like that. _

_ Baze glanced up and around, but no one was paying attention. “No,” Baze whispered back, and this time, Chirrut pulled him close, and took his mouth, and Baze felt like his heart was jumping out of his chest. “I’m really fucking glad you didn’t punch me for wanting to kiss you,” Baze admitted breathlessly when they’d broken apart. _

_ “All is as the universe wills it,” Chirrut replied, and Baze laughed. “Want to go back to my place and make out some more?” _

 

Baze squeezed Chirrut’s hand. “As always, it has come to the point on our anniversary when I must thank you profusely for making the first move.”

Chirrut brought Baze’s knuckles to his lips. “Best move I ever made.”

Baze finished off the last of his water. “Want to head home?”

“Well, I do owe  _ someone _ a blow job, so sure.” Chirrut downed the last of the sake himself, then started to rise, holding out his arm for Baze to take. He was completely capable of getting around by himself, but sometimes, he liked to indulge Baze, as he put it. Especially when he’d had something to drink. As they paid, Chirrut chatted with the server, and Baze let the happy chatter fall over him.

Home, Chirrut had him pushed against the hallway wall as soon as they’d shut and locked the front door. Baze’s mind went fuzzy as all blood immediately redirected down below, and he moaned as Chirrut sucked at his neck. It had taken years of practice for Baze to become vocal in bed. Chirrut’s cane clattered to the ground as he cupped Baze’s face and crashed their lips together. 

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” Chirrut whispered over his lips. 

Baze ran his hands down Chirrut’s back, then squeezed into his ass and lifted him so he could wrap his legs around Baze’s waist. If Chirrut had managed to get Baze to be more vocal, then Baze had managed to turn Chirrut’s opinion on being manhandled. “About this?” Baze asked, panting, grinding Chirrut into his cock. 

“Yes,” Chirrut gasped.

Baze sealed their lips together again as he walked them to the bedroom. Chirrut’s arms were clinging around his neck, desperate to get Baze closer. He laughed, though, when Baze fell into the bed with him. 

Chirrut started to crawl down. “Now, what did I promise?” He ripped open Baze’s button down, nipping into his chest. Familiarity with Baze’s body only meant that he knew exactly where to bite, where to lick, where to suck, to send Baze careening toward the edge without even touching his cock. 

“Want you in me,” Baze moaned, writhing.

“Thought  _ you _ wanted to be in  _ me, _ ” Chirrut pointed out, hands already working at Baze’s zipper. 

“Please?” 

The smile that spread across Chirrut’s face was definitely like the cat that ate the canary. “If you insist.” He climbed off Baze, hurriedly undressing himself and reaching for the lube on the nightstand. Baze slid out of his pants and shucked his shirt, settling back into the pillows, and accepting Chirrut in his arms happily.

Chirrut kissed him, slow and sweet, kiss blending into kiss until they were both breathless. He started working his way lower, again, placing kisses down the sturdy muscular frame of Baze’s body. When he got to Baze’s straining cock, he placed a butterfly kiss on the side that had Baze twitching, then leaned back to spread Baze’s legs open. Lubing a finger, Chirrut began the process of stretching Baze’s hole. As he added a second finger, then a third, Baze writhed and moaned under him. 

“ _ Lăo gong _ ,” Baze gasped. “ _ Please. _ ” 

Chirrut grinned at him and ran a lubed hand over his own leaking cock. He used both hands to help guide himself in, and then he was there, pressing into Baze, filling Baze up in the best way, the most complete way, and they were sighing together. Chirrut sought Baze’s hands, and Baze gave them over easily, so Chirrut could press them down into the mattress and steady them both. Baze shifted his hips up, feeling Chirrut slide even deeper, and opened his legs, taking Chirrut’s strong, steady thrust and rolling his hips. 

Baze’s cock brushed between their bellies, and as Chirrut nailed his prostate, the stimulation was enough for him to come all over his stomach, groaning and clenching down on Chirrut’s cock.

_ “Shit.”  _ Chirrut growled, and poured into Baze, collapsing onto Baze’s chest. “Fuck, baby. I love you,” Chirrut slurred in Baze’s ear.

Baze chuckled, as much as he could while his heart was still knocking against his ribs. “All is as the universe wills it.” 

“ _ Bái chī, _ ” Chirrut replied without heat, and Baze hugged him tighter to his chest.

“I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Baze/Chirrut fic, and this couple really got their teeth in me. I hope I got characterizations okay.
> 
> I'm @animalasaysrauer on tumblr, and I've written a bunch of stormpilot stuff, so if that sounds interesting to you, click on my name above.


End file.
